We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.
--Elizabeth Alexander

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

He Loved Penguins

He never slept wellBut he loved penguinsHe lay awake at nightAnd thought about flightless birds on iceburgsA row of stuffed tuxedosGuarded his bed when he finally drifted offWarm and safe, dreaming little boy dreamsNow he still lays awakeBut he doesn’t imagine penguins anymoreHe listens to angry noiseBlasting like dynamite into his psycheLoud words insisting that life isDarkness and hatred and violenceWhen he can’t sleepHe wanders, solitary and restlessDrifting off in the wee hours to wake againIsolated and lonely, frustrated and annoyedHe seems so far awayFrom the little boy who knew everythingAbout Emperors and Kings and FairiesNow intent on knowing everythingAbout smokes and beers and girlsThe boy who loved penguinsIs somewhere in thereI want him to know that there is an easier wayThat love is realThat everything passes in timeThat he won’t feel this way foreverI want to hang onto him tightlyPull him in closeLove him for the little boy he wasThe curious one who loved penguinsHope for the man he will becomeThe one who will again be open and curiousWho will know that life can be creationHarmony and connection and joyThe one who will find peaceful sleep at lastAnd wake to teach his own little boys and mineAbout penguins